


Picking Up the Pieces

by Ikuna



Series: Of Wolves and Bucks [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Arthur is a little drunk, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, alcohol use, john is very much in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 00:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16482776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikuna/pseuds/Ikuna
Summary: John wasn't there when Mary Linton shattered Arthur's heart the first time, but he'd make damn sure he was there this time.





	Picking Up the Pieces

It wasn’t unusual for Arthur to be gone for a few days, it seemed right now, especially, that Dutch seemed to be relying on Arthur for almost everything.

 

What was unusual, however, was for no one else to know why he was gone. 

 

John had a plan that day. He had heard from Mary Beth that there was a train coming into the area in a few days- he came up with a damn good plan on robbing it, and he was going to pitch it to Arthur that morning. 

 

Except, he was nowhere to be found. 

 

His horse was gone, too. 

 

John took a quick peek at his tent, checking to make sure his belongings were still in their place- they were. 

 

John knew Arthur would never abounded them, that big fool acted like he hated half of them, but John knew it was all bluster. 

 

Normally, John wouldn’t be this antsy with Arthur being gone. Honestly, he usually enjoyed the break from his ribbing, but they  _ were  _ on a tight deadline.

 

“Hey, Miss Mary-Beth.” John called, walking up to the young brunette. She was sitting near the cliffs edge, the one that overlooked the whole valley. She had her pen in hand, writing as per usual. She perked up at the sound of her name, smiling brightly when she saw John.

 

“Hey there, Mr. Marston! How’s it goin’?” She stood up from the log she sat on, facing him. John smiled back politely. 

 

“Not too bad- was just goin’ to discuss the train plan with Arthur, but-” John waved an arm in the direction of the camp. “He ain’t here. Haven’t seen him since yesterday morning, in fact.” Mary Beth scrunched up her face, her smile turning into something between a frown and a pout. 

 

“I was goin’ to talk to him about it tonight, but I guess I was too late.” She muttered, crossing her arms.

 

“What do you mean?” John asked.

 

“Well- Mrs. Linton is in Valentine, is all. Me an’ Karen saw her walking around, goin’ to the general store and what not. I was goin’ to warn him tonight, so he wouldn’t be all surprised if he saw her in town one day- but I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew.”

 

“Well, shit.” Was all John could think of to say.

 

John knew Mary Linton, not well by any means, she stayed as far away from their camp as she possibly could, a few years back, when Arthur and her were, well, involved- which always rubbed him the wrong way. Among other things. He saw the way Arthur looked at her, the way she looked at him. 

 

She made him happy, truly, honest to god  _ happy _ . Which was a rare mood for Arthur. 

 

John didn’t know why it bothered him so much- maybe it was seeing her look down her nose at him and the other gang members whenever she was around. Maybe it was that Arthur was around less and less, John remembers picking fights with Arthur about that. Arthur had been a rock in his life, he couldn’t of imagined life without him. 

 

John was young, and an idiot- after one big fight, John made the biggest mistake of his life. He packed up his stuff in the middle of the night and left. 

 

He thought it was the right choice, at the time. He was angry, fighting with Arthur constantly, which bled over to fights with Dutch. He could see he was making a mess of things. Leaving was what he thought was best. Let Arthur do what he had to with Mary Linton, John wanted no part of it. 

 

John was gone a year to the month. Honestly, when he left he wasn’t planning on coming back. But, well, things change when you’re on the road by yourself. He missed them. He missed Dutch, who was like a father to him. He missed Hosea- hell, he even missed Javier and Miss Grimshaw. Most of all, he missed Arthur. 

 

Arthur and him weren’t especially close, despite practically growing up together. Arthur was always one to keep his distance from everyone, save Dutch and Hosea. But whenever those two were too busy, Arthur would teach him things, like fishing and trick shots, and where to aim when shooting so you’d only have to use one bullet. 

 

When John eventually returned to the gang, he’d expected Arthur to be long gone- off and married to that rich gal, far away from the outlaw life. Imagine his surprise when he saw him at camp.

 

No one was more angry than Arthur. He ended up throwing fists at the sight of John, his rugged face twisted into a terrible scowl. Hosea and Dutch both had to hold him down- that man was as built as a bull and didn’t hold his punches. Broke John’s nose for sure, that night.

 

That scowl never fully disappeared. 

 

He was never truly happy again. 

 

He heard from around camp that him and Mary split up bad, not too long after John left. Arthur was hurting something fierce and John wasn’t there for him. Those wounds he got, were now calloused over, but still there. He saw it every time he talked with Arthur. 

 

“You think they’re gettin’ back together?” Mary-Beth asked, snapping John from his bitter memories. 

 

“Huh? Well, I wouldn’t know.” John said, giving a huff of an awkward laugh. 

 

Mary-Beth stares at him, a little too long and a little too deep. John clears his throat, and Mary-Beth smiles a bit. 

 

“Well, let’s hope not.” She turns to leave, pausing for just a moment she looks over her shoulder at him. “We all know he could do much better.” Then she saunters off, heading over to where Karen was sitting, near one of the campfires.

 

John shakes his head and mutters, “half the time I don’t know a thing about what she’s sayin’.” Before heading to his own tent. He wasn’t sure what to make of it all, Arthur was clearly the most devoted of them all. John made the mistake of doubting that all those years ago, and it cost them their friendship. He had no reason to think he’d go running off to Mary Linton at the first whiff of her. He wasn’t going to make any judgements, not until talking to Arthur himself. 

 

He sat on his bedroll, going over his plans again. No doubt Arthur would tear them apart, he’d have to make sure they were rock solid before showing them to anyone.

 

—

 

It was night. The sky clear, deep blue, and full of stars. It was late, most everyone had gone to bed, save for Charles, who was on guard duty, and John himself. 

 

Arthur hasn’t returned yet. Two nights in a row. Part of John was concerned- it wasn’t unknown of Arthur to get himself into some sort of trouble, as much as he’d deny it. Trouble seemed to follow him, like some sort of bad luck magnet. 

 

The other part couldn’t help but think this was some sort of revenge. Leaving like John left all those years ago. Arthur clearly hasn’t let it go, despite Dutch and Hosea forgiving him, Arthur still brought it up daily. 

 

John left his tent open, half facing the outlook, half a certain someone’s empty tent. 

 

Around 3am, John heard the sounds of heavy horse steps off in the distance, breaking through the ambient sounds of crickets chirping and fire crackling.

 

John perked up, hearing the grunt of Arthur dropping down from his horse.

 

John vaguely sees him cross camp in the dim light of the fire, he’s swaying with a bottle of something in his palms. He trips, curses, and continues on, taking a swing of whatever liquor he’s nursing. 

 

John purses his lips. On one hand, he was relieved. He was back, in one piece, albeit maybe not in the best of shape, but he was  _ here. _ On the other hand, clearly whatever happened didn’t end well. John huffed out a sigh, rising to his feet, walking to the cliffs edge where Arthur just plopped down. 

 

“Hey.” John says, stopping just to the side of him. Arthur looks up, with a scowl and John’s heart twists a bit. He had shaved his beard, now it was at a tasteful stubble. He even got a haircut, a nice fade, a bit shorter than he usually cared to keep it. He must’ve done that for her.

 

“What the hell d’you want?” He asks, squinting up at John and taking another swig from his bottle. 

 

John gestures next to Arthur, “mind if I sit?”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes and shrugs with his whole body. “Do I fuckin’ own this land?” That was as close to a ‘yes’ as he would probably get. So he sat down, back against the log next to Arthur. 

 

They were quiet for a while, nothing but the sound of nature and Uncle’s loud snoring. 

 

“I don’t want your pity.” Arthur said, words slurring. 

 

“Ain’t no one pitying you.” John replied back, looking at the man next to him out of the corner of his eye. Arthur was looking at him fully with pursed lips. His answer must’ve been satisfactory; Arthur extended the bottle to John, who took it with a nod before taking a swig himself. He hissed a bit as what he now knew was whiskey burned down his throat.

 

“I’m just so… so  _ sick  _ of helpin’ people, only for them to throw it right back in my face.” Arthur growled out, his eyes flashing with anger, and something else. 

 

“Didn’t go well I take it?” 

 

Arthur laughed, dry and humorless, “of course the whole goddamn camp knows.” His empty grin turned into a frown. “Nah, didn’t go well at all.” John nodded, careful not to prod. If Arthur wanted to tell him, he would. You couldn’t force that bull of a man to do anything he didn’t want to do.

 

Arthur sighed deep next to him, “I don’t blame her, ya know. For not wanting me, I mean.” John frowned, looking over at the bigger man. He was slumped back a bit, face illuminated by the moonlight. “Her husband fuckin’ died, and she still don’t want me.” 

 

Self deprecation wasn’t unusual for Arthur, John has learned over their many years of living together. Arthur  _ hated  _ himself, as plain as day, though John could never figure out why. Sometimes John wished Arthur could see himself the way John saw him- beautiful, bathed in moonlight with a heart so pure it’d sell for thousands. Hell, John was sure the majority of their camp felt the same way- or, well, something similar. Hopefully not the same way John felt.

 

“You know Arthur-“ next to him, Arthur groaned.

 

“For god's sake, here comes some genuine Marston fuckin’ wisdom! Just what I need!” Arthur lamented, although John could heat the humor in his voice as well.

 

“Well wait just a goddamn minute, Morgan-“ John chuckled, Arthur’s humor infectious. “You saved my life, remember? The  _ least  _ I could do is give you some damn good advice.” 

 

Arthur laughed, his grey eyes no longer filled with unspeakable sadness. “The minute you give anyone good advice is the minute the president pronounces me a goddamn saint.” John joined in on the laughter.

 

“Hey, how’s that healing?” Arthur asked softly, after their laughter had died down, his fingertips suddenly ghosting over his cheek. Johns heartbeat sped up, he chuckled, glancing over at Arthur. His brow was furrowed as his fingers barely brushed over the still healing skin.

 

“It’s fine, Arthur.” He cleared his throat, “I, uh, really appreciate it, ya know?” Arthur’s eyes flashed over from the scars to John’s own eyes. He wanted to look away, instinctively. Arthur’s gaze was intense and penetrating, but he held still. “You literally savin’ my life, and all.” 

 

“Abigail begged me to.” 

 

Ouch. Him and Abigail weren’t on good terms, Arthur had to know that. 

 

“So if Abigail hadn’t begged you to, you would’ve been happy to let me die? Is that what you mean?” John presses, normally he’d let it go, but he felt like they’d made progress, actual progress for the first time in years. 

 

Arthur took his hand away, glaring out at the canyon. John suddenly missed the lack of contact. “You know what I mean, Marston-“

 

“No I don’t,  _ Arthur. _ ” Then he was silent. Glaring at the empty space in front of him. John sighed, breathing out through his nose. “I’ve never stopped regretting leaving. I’m sorry, Arthur. Truly.” 

 

Arthur didn’t say anything immediately, but the hard lines around his eyes had softened, his hands unclenched. “I wouldn’t have left you to die, idiot. ‘Course I wouldn’t have.” He turned to look at John again. They were close, barely a breath apart. 

 

John felt intoxicated, despite drinking hardly any liquor. He could smell Arthur’s after shave, and the slight perfume left over from the bath he must have had while he was in town. He smelled amazing. 

 

John closed the distance between them, capturing Arthur’s lips against his own. His heart was racing, beating a hundred miles a minute. His lips were warm and full, tasting of the whisky he’d been drinking. 

 

It wasn’t long until Arthur fell in sync, pushing back against John, fighting to be the dominant one. And John let him, God, he’d let him do anything he wanted. 

 

Arthur’s strong hand was suddenly in the back of John’s neck, pulling him closer. His other hand was tenderly cupping his scarred cheek. John groaned into it, reaching a hand into his freshly cut hair. 

 

As soon as it began, it ended. Arthur suddenly pulling away from the kids, though not fully away from John completely. He was panting, eyes closed. John looked at him for a moment, out of breath as well. Arthur’s eyes opened slowly, pulling gently out of John’s grasp, his other hand sliding down to cup the other side of John’s head. 

 

“I feel like I’m ‘bout to pass out, so uhh… how about we rain check this?” Arthur said lightly, with a chuckle. 

 

John breathes out a laugh, his heart relaxing. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed, pretty boy.” John pulled himself up, holding an arm out for Arthur. 

 

Arthur groaned, “I’m never goin’ to hear the end of that, am I?” Grabbing onto John’s arm, he hoisted himself up, stumbling a bit, which John was more than happy to help with. 

 

John grinned, “not when it’s true- woah!” He sucks out of the way of a drunk shove, making sure to keep a strong grip on Arthur so he wouldn’t topple over. 

 

“Oh so  _ that  _ happens, and now you suddenly think it’s alright to tease me, huh?” 

 

“That seems about right, if I’m keeping track.” Arthur grumbled at that.

 

They reached Arthur’s tent, Arthur throwing himself down on the bed with a deep sigh. 

 

“Night, Arthur.” John turned and started walking back to his tent when he heard it,

 

“G’night, John…” as quiet as a mouse. John smiles, he’d take his little victories.

**Author's Note:**

> God, I love this game! And I love my big, dumb, sad cowboy Arthur- I just want him to be happy! 
> 
> Hopefully John is in character, I've never played Red Dead 1, so I mostly relied on my Red Dead 2 knowledge and a bit of google. Feel free to follow me on tumblr- I'm @torveela. Also, feel free to send me Arthur/anyone prompts! Can't promise I'll do them, I'm pretty busy with work and school, but I'd love to think about them! I ship him with almost any of the men (minus Dutch, Hosea and Uncle cause that's nasty).
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


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